Stray Cat Café

On a dreary day too poor for a name, He dragged himself down to the little café, Flat white and a paper, always the same, He fumbled for coins and something to say, His hand struck silver, but his mind no gold, The coffee machine frothed a mocking hiss, His soft fingers touched the counter so cold, And there she was, a sunny shining miss, All glowing with life and lighter than air, Pink lemonade cheeks and strawberry lips, A chef’s hat hiding her blonde wistful hair, Uniform jealously guarding her hips, As soon as she smiled, his fears departed, ...